


Waiting for Life to Start

by incapricious



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, pre-HBP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-05
Updated: 2006-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tri-Wizard Tournament is returning to Hogwarts to mark the ten-year anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort.  When Draco walks off the Durmstrang ship, Harry, now a Hogwarts professor, is thrown by an unexpected attraction. Over the course of the next year, he will have to deal with those feelings as well as the aftermath of the war, something he has put off for far too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Life to Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiona_fawkes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fiona_fawkes).



> Written for fiona_fawkes for hd_holidays 2006. Thanks to waterbird for beta-reading and de, wook77 and yodels for helping immensely along the way by reading, giving feedback, and tossing out ideas.

"And finally, Mister Filch has asked that I remind you that Dungbombs are not an appropriate educational tool. If they are to be used for instructional purposes, which he strongly discourages, please be sure to clean up the resulting 'filthy residue' thoroughly." With a wry smile, Headmistress McGonagall let the piece of parchment fall to the table and looked up at the assembled faculty members.

Harry could feel the eyes of the other professors on him. Even McGonagall seemed to be focusing on him. It wasn't fair. Filch wasn't always talking about him in his "friendly little reminders" to the faculty. True, there had been the incident with the specially-charmed Fanged Frisbees, but that had been during his first year teaching. At the time, it had seemed like a good way for his students to practice Repelling Charms. Anyway, no permanent harm had been done; Mrs Norris' hair had grown back. Mostly.

"As you are no doubt aware, there will be no meeting next week to give you all ample time to prepare your examinations. The following week's meeting will be used for planning the end-of-term feast and other activities. The year is almost over -- congratulations on making it through in one piece." There were a few muted cheers in response to her words. "Harry, I would like to speak with you. The rest of you, thank you for your attention and have a pleasant evening."

Harry sighed and stayed in his seat while the rest of his peers shuffled out. Professor Flitwick winked at him as he passed. The door closed, leaving them alone in the room.

"Headmistress, I swear I haven't been using Dungbombs in my class--"

McGonagall held up her hand. "That's not what I wish to speak with you about, Harry. I have a somewhat more serious matter to discuss with you."

An old, familiar feeling clawed its way up his throat, tearing through the carefully erected defences that allowed him to live a normal life. Once a week during the war, no matter where he was, Hedwig had brought him a letter from Remus, a letter that told him who among his friends and classmates had lived and who had died. Every Thursday he had waited for Hedwig, that same feeling ripping him to shreds on the inside.

Until one week, the letter didn't come.

"Harry." The gentleness of the voice pulled him away from his memories. "My goodness, you look …. I apologize if I alarmed you. I do not have bad news."

He took a deep breath and the ghosts began to recede.

"It is a school-related matter I wish to discuss with you. The Tri-Wizard tournament."

He was not prepared to hear those three words. Fragments of images and sounds flashed in his mind; memories of fear, doubt, and anger echoed through him, weakened by time but still potent.

"The Department of Magical Games and Sports thinks it would be a fitting way to mark the ten-year anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort. I am inclined to agree with them. It would be held at Hogwarts next school year." She paused, and Harry wondered if she was expecting him to say something. He pushed the memories back, trying to regain some control over himself.

"However," McGonagall continued, "the Governing Board is insisting that you serve as the Head of Task Safety for the Tournament. They are concerned that some of the parents would fear for their children's well-being, given … given the history of the tournament."

_You mean, 'given what happened the last time'_, thought Harry, as "Kill the spare" rang in his head.

"I will not force you to do this. But the fact of the matter is that everyone would feel safer if you were to accept this position, including myself. Not only are you Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, you are also--"

"Harry Potter. I get it. I just … I don't think it's safe. I don't know." _I don't know if I can protect them. I don't know if I can handle the memories_. "Could I have some time to think it over?" _I'll just pretend. In a few days, I'll refuse and this will all go away._

"Yes. Yes, of course you may. Thank you," she said; the disappointment was clear in her tone.

He was halfway out the door when she spoke up again.

"We are really and truly out from under the shadow of the madman, Harry. It's time to enjoy the sunshine."

He nodded without looking back and closed the door.

\---

Harry stood near the edge of the marsh, watching the progress of the Beauxbatons champion through the deep, murky water. The boy had been surprised by the Dugbogs, which looked like dead logs floating on the surface of the water, but had eventually managed to get away from them. Hermione would have been especially proud of this first task, Harry thought, since it required the champions to get through the marsh without doing any permanent harm to its inhabitants.

After several minutes of struggling with what appeared to be a school of fish, the student pulled himself out of the water and onto the sand-covered shore. As the Fire Crabs scuttled towards him, the Beauxbatons cheering section began to chant something in unison. Harry turned to survey the crowd behind him.

His glance swept over the line of people standing in front of the stadium, stopping at the far end on a man in a long green cloak, his white-blond hair blowing around his face with the wind. Harry tried to look away, to return to watching the task, but he couldn't. The current competitor could be burning to death right now, and he still wouldn't have been able to stop staring at Draco Malfoy. He had been causing problems for Harry ever since his arrival here with the Durmstrang delegation.

Their ship had risen from the lake, and Harry had been there with the Headmistress and representatives from the Ministry to greet them. Malfoy was the last off the ship, his steps down the gangplank slow and hesitant. Harry didn't even realize who the man was until he was standing in front of him, hand extended. They shook hands, and Harry mumbled the same thing he'd said to all the others: "Welcome to Hogwarts."

As Malfoy walked away, he looked back at Harry for a second, his face unreadable, and Harry felt a jolt of familiar but unwelcome emotion. Not that again, he thought. That had just been a phase, a confusing phase during the war that was over and done with. He couldn't go through it again: the desire, the need, the confusion.

That night, during the feast, he'd done everything in his power to not look at Malfoy, but had spent the entire meal watching him anyway. After McGonagall's speech, during which Harry was announced as Head of Task Safety and Malfoy was not announced at all, Malfoy walked up to him and said, "If anything happens to one of our students, I promise to personally kill you."

"As long as your students play by the rules, they'll be fine," Harry said in return, glad to feel anger instead of … that other thing. They hadn't spoken for weeks after that. Harry kept to his duties and tried to ignore the growing inferno inside of him. Then last night, while on his way to conduct a final examination of the first task setup, he had caught the Durmstrang champion sneaking through the protective barrier that surrounded the marsh. She had claimed she was just going for a walk and had accidentally gotten caught in the wards, but as she'd already disabled three of them, he'd found her excuse implausible. While escorting her back to the castle, they had run into Malfoy. Harry had needed to speak loudly to drown out the roaring in his ears.

"Malfoy. Your student was trying to sneak a look at the first task. You know that's against the rules. But more than that, it's dangerous."

"Thank you, Professor Potter. I will handle this. Nika, please go inside." Malfoy said something to the girl in a language Harry didn't understand, and she scurried away, flashing him a clever smile. Once she was gone, Malfoy stepped towards Harry until their faces were only inches apart. Harry swallowed roughly, feeling his body respond to the closeness.

"You hypocrite," Malfoy said in a low voice, his breath warm against Harry's face. "Everyone knows you had help when you were in the tournament. If you know what's good for you, you'll look the other way next time you see a Durmstrang student wandering about where they're not supposed to be."

"I am responsible for tournament safety," Harry said, when what he wanted to do was lean forward and lick Malfoy's lower lip. "It wasn't safe for her to be there." Part of his brain finally managed to process what Malfoy had said. "And don't you dare threaten me. Not if _you_ know what's good for you."

He had hurried away before he could succumb to his impulses, leaving Malfoy standing in the darkness. Back in his quarters, he had taken a long, cold shower and not thought about how Malfoy's skin might taste. But in the morning he had woken up with sticky sheets, the power of his desires having overcome him in his sleep.

\---

The small reception, held in celebration of the first task, had been subdued so far. The professors and other adults from the schools' delegations were exchanging pleasantries while munching on elf-passed hors d'oeuvres and drinking cocktails. Harry had accepted many congratulations, some reluctant, and was currently having an interesting conversation with an official from the Department of Magical Games and Sports about proposed changes to the rules of Quidditch.

All during their conversation, Harry was aware of Malfoy on the other side of the room. Every time the crowd parted in just the right way, Harry could see him, alone, leaning against the far wall with an untouched drink in his hand. Sometimes, he looked directly back at Harry, and Harry found it necessary to grab a drink and down it immediately. He had lost count of the number of times that had happened.

The head of Games and Sports turned away, and Harry decided to go tell Malfoy to stop looking at him; otherwise he was going to get horribly drunk. The room swayed a bit as he took a step forward. Hmm, maybe it was already too late for that. Out of nowhere, a thin woman with carefully coiffed hair appeared in front of him. Harry squinted at her. It was Madame Roux, a professor from Beauxbatons.

"I would 'ave a word with you, Professor," she said. "It is not fair zhat some of zhe creatures in today's task were native to zis country. It 'as given zhe 'ogwarts student an unfair advantage. She must have known not to fear zhe … what do you call zhem? Limpies? Our Sebastien was only zhe slowest one because 'e did not know zhat such fishes were 'armless."

"What, you mean the fish in France have arms?" What was this woman talking about?

"You dare to mock me?" she yelled, and the room fell silent. McGonagall worked her way through the crowd towards them, and a low buzz of whispered conversation started up. When she arrived, the woman was in the middle of a tirade about … about fish, Harry thought. He wasn't quite sure; he was having a bit of trouble following her. As McGonagall began to speak with her in a low, firm voice, Harry wandered away.

Where had he been going again?

"That woman is a harpy."

Harry looked to his left. Oh, yes, that was it. "Malfoy," he said, "I was looking for you."

"Were you? Whatever for?"

Good question. "Don't remember." He looked into Malfoy's eyes. _I want to worship you with my lips and tongue_. "Um. No reason."

Malfoy snickered. "Hogwarts' finest. You're teaching Defence, aren't you? Pansy told me."

"Yeah." Harry looked into his drink, a bright blue concoction that tasted strongly of coconut. "That's nice that you keep in touch with your friends. Mine are all dead." He threw back the rest of the drink and looked around for another, but the elves seemed to be avoiding him.

"Yes, well, she's more than a friend."

"Who is?"

"Pansy. You're completely smashed, aren't you?"

"Dunno. So what is she? You're not married to her or anything, are you?" In his mind, Harry saw himself strangling Pansy Parkinson.

"Merlin, no. We're 'seeing each other' in an exclusive fashion. Seven years of bliss, I think, when you add it all up. And really, 'seeing' isn't quite the right word. She lives in America at the moment, which presents a bit of a logistical challenge."

"Wow. That's really far away." He saw himself burying Pansy's lifeless body in a shallow grave deep in the Forbidden Forest. It occurred to him that he should change the subject.

A house-elf carrying a tray of miniature pumpkin pasties walked between them. Seeing an opportunity, Harry grabbed two and handed one to Malfoy, who, looking surprised, popped it into his mouth. Once he was done, he held up his hand, examining the buttery crumbs on his fingers.

"Oh, let me …" said Harry, stepping next to Malfoy to grab a serviette from the table behind them, pressing his body into Malfoy's side, relishing the sensation of solid warmth. He didn't need to be standing this close to him, but why shouldn't he, when it felt so good?

He reluctantly stepped back to where he had been standing. "There you go."

Malfoy took the serviette, wiped his hands and then stood there, holding the crumpled paper and looking around the room, as if trying to find somewhere else to go, someone else to talk to. Harry wondered if he'd done something wrong. He cast about for another conversation topic.

"So, what are you doing at Durmstrang?"

"The same thing you're doing here."

"Wow. You're Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts too?"

"No." Malfoy sighed impatiently. "I'm … teaching."

"Oh. But why there? It's so far from home. Don't you miss, y'know, stuff? I'd miss stuff."

"As I'm sure you'd remember if you weren't totally pissed, I have no home. Your people took it from me, despite what I did. Why would I want to be here? Being here does nothing but remind me of what I've lost. You have no idea what that's like." Malfoy stalked away, and Harry's head suddenly felt clear.

"I know exactly what that's like," he said.

\---

The next few weeks went quickly. December arrived, and snow piled up outside the castle. Harry felt a strange sense of contentment. Ever since the reception, Malfoy had been friendlier with him. He didn't understand it, since as far as he could remember he'd behaved like an idiot. But for whatever reason, Malfoy would now say hello when he passed by, and would often stop and chat with Harry for a few minutes at meals and in the corridors. Harry hated to admit how much he enjoyed those conversations, even when they turned into arguments, which happened frequently. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't deny that days he didn't see Malfoy were disappointing.

It wasn't even that he liked Malfoy; he didn't. Nearly every conversation, Harry added another item to Malfoy's list of character flaws. He was arrogant, immature, and completely unreasonable on issues regarding blood purity. Harry didn't like him, but being around him made him feel alive. He liked that feeling.

The day before Christmas holidays were to begin, Malfoy showed up after Harry's last class and asked him if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade for a drink. Harry bit his lip, feeling like a giddy teenager trying to control his delight at being asked out.

"Uh, sure. That would be great," he said, picking his cloak up from the back of his chair.

\---

The Hog's Head was crowded, as usual for a Friday night. Harry and Malfoy had found a small table in the corner. So far they had drunk two lagers each and managed to not say anything of substance. Harry swirled the dark amber liquid around in his glass. He had first stopped outside the Three Broomsticks, but Malfoy had sped up and walked past it, forcing Harry to follow him further up the street. Perhaps he was afraid of seeing Madame Rosmerta. Harry wondered if he should tell him that she was dead.

A peculiarly dressed crone walked up to their table. "Tell your fortunes, dearies?"

"No, thank you," said Harry firmly.

Malfoy grinned. "Wait, this could be fun. Sure, tell me my fortune," he said, holding out his palm.

"Ten knuts, please," she said, holding her own hand out.

Malfoy fished the money out of his cloak while Harry watched, surprised that Malfoy was going along with this. Of course, _his_ life hadn't been irrevocably changed by a prophecy, so perhaps he didn't have the aversion to fortune telling that Harry did.

The crone grabbed the coins and Malfoy's hand and ran her fingers along the lines of his palm. Harry shivered, wanting to be the one touching that pale, smooth skin. He pushed the rest of his beer away; perhaps he'd had enough.

"Well?" demanded Malfoy. "What does it say?"

"You will be wealthy again, but not … not yet." She inspected Malfoy's thumb, then each finger. "You will travel a great deal in your life. Ah. And … you have already met your soul mate." She released his hand.

_That's me_, thought Harry. _What? Why the hell did I just think that?_ He exhaled a shaky breath. He must be more drunk than he realized.

"Is that all? I've gotten more thorough predictions from packets of breakfast cereal."

The woman glared and walked away.

"That was disappointing," Malfoy said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which Harry tried to convince himself that he had not just thought that he was Draco Malfoy's soul mate. But it was hard to think straight with those cool grey eyes focused on him. Right. New topic.

"So, what did you think of the first task?" Harry asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"It was … fine. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. S'just … I sort of designed it."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "We were told that the tasks were designed by an impartial committee."

"The committee," Harry said derisively. "Tossers. Do you know their proposal involved four separate magical beasts rated five Xs or higher? As if I was going to approve a plan that required teenagers to face a Chimaera, not to mention a Manticore. I mean, why not just throw them into a cage with a nundu while you're at it?"

"So they just let you redesign the-- of course they did. You're Harry bloody Potter."

"Let me? They made me. They didn't much like it when I called them a bunch of incompetent, sadistic child-abusers. Apparently they took that as an insult."

"Who would have thought?" murmured Malfoy.

"So they said they weren't going to change a thing on their design, and if I wanted changes I had to do them myself. So I did. 'It'll be on your head when the spectators all die of boredom,' they said. But I think the first task went really well. It was exciting and no one got hurt."

"Yes, it was good wholesome fun for the whole family." Malfoy looked at his watch and then pushed back his chair. "I have to be heading back now."

"What? But it's early still. And we're on holiday!" It was nice to just sit here, near Malfoy. They didn't even have to talk. It was better if they didn't talk, actually. That way it was easier for Harry to pretend that his feelings for Malfoy were reasonable.

"Yes, I know. But I'm leaving at the crack of dawn. Travelling. Pansy is coming home for Christmas, so I'm spending the holidays with her family."

Malfoy stood and walked towards the door while Harry sat at the table and finished his beer, imagining Pansy falling down a mineshaft.

\---

It was a beautiful night; the moonlight made the falling snow sparkle in the air. Harry ran, keeping his eyes on the solitary figure walking slowly back towards Hogwarts. He caught up with Malfoy just inside the front gates.

"Isn't that a good thing?" he asked, panting.

"What?"

"Getting to see Pansy."

"When did I say it wasn't?"

"You don't seem very happy about it."

Malfoy stopped walking and looked up at the sky. "Look, Potter. Being emotionally stunted, I don't expect you'll understand, but … seven years is a long time." He kept talking over Harry's squawk of protest. "It's impossible to know someone for that long and still find them exciting. I don't know. I suppose if she's my bloody soul mate I ought to just marry her. Marriage is the next step, isn't it? It's what one does. Although to be honest, I had been thinking of breaking things off with her. It's got to be one or the other. Something needs to change."

"But … you can't go off and marry her just because that old witch said you'd already met your soul mate. That's ridiculous! You don't even know if it's her! It could be … it could be anyone!"

"Like who, you?"

Harry flushed, remembering that little voice in the back of his head. It had been a ludicrous thought. "Ha, ha, very funny. I just mean … you shouldn't marry her if you don't want to be with her. You shouldn't … it's not fair to her. That's not how things are supposed to be." He was tempted to laugh hysterically as the Pansy in his head crawled out of the mineshaft, dusted herself off, and glared at him.

Why did he even care what Malfoy did? It wasn't as if he wanted to be with Malfoy, at least not in that sense. He only wanted to touch him, to lick him and suck him and slide his hands and tongue up and down the length of him. And even that was never going to happen. Malfoy was straight. For that matter, Harry was straight. Straight-ish. A little bit straight. Well, he didn't know what he was, but that didn't matter, because Malfoy was with Pansy. And even if Malfoy wasn't with Pansy, he wasn't going to be with Harry … which was good, because Harry didn't want to be with him.

Harry wondered how long he had been standing there, lost in thought. Malfoy was staring at him strangely. He hadn't said any of that out loud, had he? No, if he had, then Malfoy would have punched him. He grabbed Malfoy's arm and pulled.

"Come on, it's freezing out here."

Malfoy allowed himself to be led back to the castle.

That night, Harry thought of Malfoy while he wanked. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to do that. At breakfast the next morning, he caught himself searching for Malfoy over and over, and felt a crippling sense of loss each time he remembered that he had gone to visit his girlfriend. Disgusted with himself, he vowed it would all stop. No more obsession, no more inappropriate thoughts. This couldn't go on.

\---

By the end of the holiday, Harry had gotten Malfoy completely out of his head. But instead, he was thinking about Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Hagrid, Remus, and all the others who were gone. He saw them everywhere -- in the groups of students chattering excitedly about the Yule Ball, in the Great Hall at the Christmas feast, and in the light of the full moon reflecting on the lake. Worst of all, he saw them in his dreams.

The first year after the war had been nearly as bad as the war itself. Harry had been lost in an endless nightmare, the horrors of what he had witnessed and what he had done insinuating themselves into every facet of his life. Whether awake or asleep, he saw blood and death and heard screams of pain. He had been close to losing his mind; he often thought that he already had. Then one night Snape had appeared before him, his face dripping blood, and told him that he would die unless he learned to shield his mind. Snape had transformed into Voldemort, and Harry had slammed his Occlumency shield up just as he felt the first tendrils of magic reaching towards him. When he woke up, he saw his bedroom and nothing else. He heard the ticking of the grandfather clock, and nothing else. He could sense the pain somewhere inside him, but it couldn't touch him. He could no longer feel it.

Of course, he could no longer feel much of anything, but that was better than the alternative.

A few months later, bored and restless, he had gone to visit Hogwarts, which was set to re-open after extensive rebuilding. The castle had been the first real home he had ever known, and being there felt right. When McGonagall offered him a position as Defense teacher, he had decided to stay.

In the years since then, he had sometimes thought of his old friends, but he had never seen them, had never felt the pain of their absence. Not until now. The ghosts were back, and he could no longer block them out. He didn't understand what had happened. He could hardly sleep for the nightmares.

At dinner the night before the new term started, Malfoy walked into the Great Hall, chatting amiably with one of the seventh-year Slytherin boys, and Harry nearly choked on his bread. He followed him with his eyes, unable to look away, his heart pounding and body tingling.

"Is everything all right, Harry?" asked Professor Sprout.

"Yeah, fine. Thanks. It's just … dry." He pointed at the bread and grabbed a glass of water. As he drank, he watched the Slytherin table, hoping Malfoy would look up at him.

He didn't.

That night, Harry fell asleep imagining pinning Malfoy against the wall of the Great Hall; he slept soundly and did not dream.

\---

Malfoy had been avoiding him ever since Christmas holidays; it seemed he didn't want to talk to Harry. That was too bad, because Harry certainly wanted to talk to him. He paced the corridor near the entrance to Slytherin, where the Durmstrang delegation was staying, waiting for Malfoy to return from lunch.

Fifteen minutes later he came striding down the corridor. Nika, the Durmstrang champion, was skipping along next to him and babbling excitedly. When she saw Harry, she fell silent.

"Malfoy, I'd like a word with you."

Nika grinned at Harry and scrambled into the common room. They were alone now; Malfoy looked at him expectantly.

"Someone broke into my office and stole some of my notes on the second task," said Harry. He felt a spiteful pleasure at seeing Malfoy suddenly look wary.

"That's unfortunate."

"It is. Especially since there's only a week until the task and I haven't time to redo it. Which means that _someone_ will have an unfair advantage in the competition."

"And … you'd like me to uncover the culprit?"

"No, I want you to admit to being the culprit. I know it was you."

"What?" Malfoy's face flushed pink. "I didn't touch your fucking notes, and I don't appreciate the accusation. I suppose the fact that I'm both a Slytherin and from Durmstrang made me an irresistible target to you. You are such a hypocritical, prejudiced--"

"It has nothing to do with-- I am not-- God, shut up, Malfoy! You're the only one who knows that I designed the tasks myself!"

Malfoy paused for a moment. When he spoke his voice was quiet but intense. "Potter, if I had broken into your office and rifled through your papers, you can be sure that I would have left no trace, and we would not be having this conversation."

"But--"

"You are the Head of Task Safety. Everyone knows that you were consulted on the design and implementation of each task. You had to inspect the task setup and presumably document your safety assessment."

Oh. He hadn't thought of that. He had seen that his protective spells were inactivated and that some of his papers were gone, and his mind had immediately jumped to Malfoy. He'd thought they were friends -- well, not friends exactly, but something, even though they hadn't spoken in weeks -- so for him to have done this had hurt. It surprised him how much it had hurt. But maybe Malfoy hadn't done it after all. He rubbed at his forehead where his scar used to be.

"Finally caught up, have you? It wasn't me."

"Just because it could have been anyone doesn't mean it wasn't you," Harry said, while silently hoping that Malfoy was telling the truth.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. He looked to be calculating something. "If I prove that it wasn't me or any other member of the Durmstrang delegation, would you be willing to take steps to rectify the current information imbalance?"

"What sort of … steps?"

"That can be discussed later. Do you or do you not want the competition to be fair?"

"Of course I do, but--"

"That's what I thought," Malfoy said. "Expect an owl from me within the hour." He turned and walked back down the corridor.

Harry wandered back upstairs to his office, wondering what Malfoy had planned. He sat behind his desk, intending to look through his remaining notes, but instead found himself watching the clock in anticipation. Within five minutes, his clock had had enough.

"Why do you keep staring at me? It's rude to stare, you know."

"Sorry … I just want to keep track of the time."

"I'm getting a rust spot, aren't I? Is it my minute hand? It feels itchy."

"No, you, um, you look great."

"You're lying. I've been hanging in this room since 1883; I can tell when I'm being lied to. I'm getting a spot. Admit it."

After ten minutes of fretting, the clock shrieked, "Don't look at me!" and turned to face the wall.

Harry spent the next forty-two minutes looking at his watch; it proved to be much less paranoid. Exactly fifty-seven minutes after he'd arrived in his office, a brown owl flew in through the open door, clutching a roll of parchment in its talons. The note was written in small but neat handwriting.

_Mme Roux has your notes. They are inside a red dragonhide-bound notebook under her mattress._

He was reading the message for a third time when Malfoy walked in. He hadn't even knocked, but Harry had more important matters to focus on.

"You went into her room?" How did he even know where she slept? Harry felt an irrational stab of jealousy.

"Of course I didn't. I couldn't very well have looked through every room in an hour, could I?"

"Then how--"

"What does it matter, Potter? Don't you want your precious papers back? Then go get them. She's still in the Great Hall finishing her lunch."

"Of course I do, but I have class in--" he glanced up at his clock, then sighed in disgust and looked at his watch "--eight minutes. I'll have to go get them during dinner, if they really are there."

"They're there."

\---

That evening, on his return from Ravenclaw Tower, Harry found Malfoy waiting for him at the door to his office; his insides did a little dance of joy at the sight. He had felt quite silly sneaking around under his Invisibility Cloak while everyone was in the Great Hall, but he hadn't particularly wanted any of his students to catch him rummaging under the mattress of a visiting Beauxbatons professor. He nodded at Malfoy and then opened the door. Once they were both in his office, he pulled the missing notes out from within his robes. They had been exactly where Malfoy had said they would be.

"So, you found them then," said Malfoy.

"I did. I can't even say that I'm surprised she had them. After the first task she was very upset that Sebastien had done so poorly. I suppose she wanted him to do better this time around."

Malfoy looked as if he were about to say something gloating. "But," continued Harry, "I had valid reasons for suspecting you, so you can drop the persecuted act."

"Act? What act? I just want to hear you say it," said Malfoy. He ran a hand through his hair; Harry watched the silky strands fall back into place around his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Now who's acting? Come on, Potter."

"Fine. I was wrong," said Harry; Malfoy looked ridiculously pleased. "I want to know how you knew the truth, though."

"Let's just say I know how to uncover information. It's better if you don't ask too many questions about my methods. I wouldn't want you to have to report me to the Ministry."

Harry was fairly sure that Malfoy had just hinted at being an unregistered Legilimens. He was also fairly sure that he didn't want to ruin this new rapport they seemed to have developed. "I see. Lucky the culprit wasn't a Hogwarts student, or else you would have been out of luck." He had insisted that Occlumency instruction be given to all students starting in their first year. By fourth year, most of them were able to completely block all but the strongest attacks.

"Yes, I'd noticed. Clearly, they have at least one competent teacher."

The compliment caught Harry by surprise; he couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.

Malfoy sat down in the small chair in front of Harry's desk; it was where students sat when they came to his office so it was odd to see Malfoy sitting there. "Now," he said, "let's discuss what you can do to even out the playing field, so to speak."

\---

It took them over an hour to reach a satisfactory arrangement. Initially, Malfoy had demanded that he be given his own copy of the notes on the grounds that Madame Roux could have made her own copies during the hours she'd had the originals in her possession. Harry thought that was ridiculous; she likely didn't expect to lose them, so why would she have copied them?

"The papers were gone when I came into my office this morning. I got them back at half six this evening. Even assuming that she stole them yesterday just after I left my office for the evening, at the most she had access to the information for twenty-two hours," said Harry. "So that's what you'll get: twenty-two hours."

Malfoy sighed. "Fine. Hand them over and I'll return them tomorrow at … what the bloody hell is wrong with your clock? Turn and face me like a proper timepiece. That's better. I'll return them at five o'clock tomorrow. Sorry, at three minutes past five."

"You think I'm an idiot, don't you? Don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question," Harry said, seeing a smirk beginning to form on Malfoy's face. Even if Madame Roux hadn't made copies, Malfoy certainly would. Another possibility bubbled into Harry's head. He could supervise Malfoy's access to the notes. Twenty-two hours alone with him. He was at once terrified and delighted at the idea. Malfoy's reaction to this suggestion was surprising.

"That would be acceptable."

"It would?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Malfoy, "it would."

\---

"… Did you write this while holding the quill with your toes? I've seen trolls with better penmanship."

Harry didn't respond, not even to point out that trolls were illiterate; in the seventeen hours he'd spent with Malfoy so far (three hours per night had been their agreement, with one extra hour to be used at Malfoy's discretion), he had lost count of the number of times his handwriting had been insulted.

"And here we are at this line again. What the fuck does this say? Is it even English? Or any language that uses the Roman alphabet? I think I'll just blackmail you into telling me what it says. Or I could torture you; nothing is stopping me from casting something nasty on you right now. I know this is the key, this line right here. 'Put the something on something, cast something.' Or 'cat something' … but it's probably 'cast', since 'cat' isn't a verb last I checked. Sod it, can't I just stay quiet unless I've miraculously learned to read your baboon writing? Surely by now you've grown tired of hearing my every thought, fascinating though I may be."

Harry snorted. Another part of their agreement had been that Malfoy would speak his thoughts out loud, so that Harry would know what he had figured out; this would allow Harry to share the information with the Hogwarts champion. If they were going to be fair, he had reasoned, then they had to be completely fair. Harry knew Malfoy would still be able to keep things from him; but this was the best he could do in the circumstances. Plus, it was extremely entertaining.

"No. Keep talking, or else I'll take the notes away and you'll never see them again."

"Fine, take them; they're useless! Madame Roux was probably glad when she discovered they'd been taken away from her. Nothing but a bunch of cryptic squiggles and symbols masquerading as descriptions of obstacles."

The second task was going to be a sort of logic-based obstacle course. The elements would be physical, but getting through them would require reasoning and logic. Malfoy had figured that part out rather quickly. But he had yet to solve a single one of the puzzles, mostly due to Harry's handwriting. Also, the notes really were notes: shorthand words and phrases to help Harry remember the task plan.

"Once this is over, Potter, you are going to pay for this. I can't even begin to tell you-- wait!" Malfoy's eyes lit up. He stared at the parchment in front of him, mouth agape.

"Malfoy, you stopped talking."

"Yes, I did stop talking. That's because I'm too shocked to speak. What kind of a task is this? You do realize the competitors are children, don't you?"

Harry felt his face heat up. "Of course I know they're children; one of them is my own student."

"This says 'cast _Erogenus_'! Please don't tell me they have to turn themselves on in order to get through the task."

Harry bit the inside of his cheeks, trying to keep from reacting in any way. He had no idea what Malfoy was talking about, but he was not about to let him know that. He focused on the far wall and kept his face neutral.

Malfoy dropped his head to the desk. "It doesn't say that, does it?" He looked at Harry and shook his head. "That is without question the worst poker face I have ever seen. And I've played poker with house-elves."

That sounded like an interesting story. Harry would have to ask about it some time. But not now.

"You don't even know what the _Erogenus_ spell does, do you?" asked Malfoy. "It's a fantastic little charm. It allows you to turn any part of your body into an erogenous zone. Just imagine instead of having only ten, having hundreds of them."

Harry couldn't help it; his curiosity got the better of him. "Of what?"

"Erogenous zones. Were you even listening to me?"

"I was, but … ten? I thought there was … just the one."

Malfoy's eyebrows tried to climb off his face; then he burst into laughter. "Oh, Potter. No wonder you're still single. You are single, aren't you?"

Harry wanted to sink through the floor. Or crawl under the desk and hide. "Stop laughing at me, you arse."

"Sorry," said Malfoy, still chuckling. "What am I saying? No I'm not. You're pathetic." He looked at his watch. "The human body has seven specific erogenous zones and three non-specific. I advise you to look them up before your next encounter with anything other than your right hand."

"Malfoy!"

"What, is it your left hand, then? How was I to know?"

"I'm not pathetic."

"Yes you are. You're alive but you haven't lived. You're hiding from life." Malfoy wasn't laughing anymore.

Harry glared at him, disoriented by the fact that he wanted to both slam his fist into Malfoy's nose and shove his tongue down his throat. Their eyes met for a few seconds. Harry could feel the energy between them, drawn tight like a bowstring. He looked away, afraid of what would happen if he didn't. "I suppose you're the expert on living." He knew his voice had that dangerous edge to it, the one that almost always made people back down.

"All I know is that you could have everything I've ever wanted -- fame, glory, power, fortune -- but instead of living that life, the life you could have, you're holed up in this old castle."

Harry thought back to his life before he came to Hogwarts and imagined the empty existence he would have if he weren't teaching. He felt blood rush to his head. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said. A pot of ink on the desk began to rattle. "You should get back to the notes. You're wasting time."

Harry couldn't be certain, but he thought Malfoy looked frightened. He looked paler than he had moments ago. Malfoy picked up the stack of papers and began to leaf through them. A few seconds later, he dropped them back onto the desk and stood up.

"This whole thing was a waste of time," he said. "I'll see you around, Potter."

\---

The next night, Harry did not expect Malfoy to show up. The second task was tomorrow, and it was unlikely that he would be able to learn anything useful in the hours he had remaining. Harry waited in his office anyway, not willing to be the one to break their agreement.

He had been so angry last night, but in the cold light of the morning, he had seen what Malfoy had meant. What was he doing with his life? Was he missing something by being at Hogwarts? He was approaching thirty, and sometimes he still felt like he was seventeen years old and waiting to grow up -- waiting for the time when he would be able to choose his own destiny.

Harry shook his head. That wasn't a productive line of thought. The past determined the future. His past had eliminated the possibility of a normal life for him. There was nothing for him out there. Maybe if he were another man, there would be options. But not for him. He picked up the book in front of him and opened it to the first page.

"You _were_ listening to me."

Harry looked up, surprised to hear that voice. "Malfoy! You're here."

"I am. And you are reading _Simple Enchantments to Spice Up Your Love Life_."

"I … I am," stammered Harry, trying and failing not to blush.

Malfoy sat down with a sigh. "Where was I? Oh right, I was lamenting the quality of your penmanship."

\---

Three hours later, they were both yawning. Harry put down his book.

"That's three hours. Unless you want to use your discretionary hour?"

He took Malfoy's disgusted grunt to mean 'no'.

"So did you figure anything else out? You got kind of quiet near the end there."

"You were so engrossed in your reading that I didn't think you'd noticed. But no, I didn't figure anything out. I was merely in a stupor of frustration," Malfoy said. He stood and stretched. Harry trailed his eyes up and down the length of his body.

Harry stood as well, and walked with Malfoy to the door. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, reluctant to open it. "Good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you. So … what did you learn tonight? Do you know all ten now, at least?"

It took Harry a moment to realize what he meant. He chuckled nervously. "Oh. Well I couldn't find all ten in that book. I mean, it said there were ten, but didn't list them all. But … let's see: lips, neck, um, nipples, and, um, the one I already knew about. They called it 'the male member'. That's funny, like it's in some sort of club."

"Yes, a club where the members wear odd little hats."

"Right, with -- oh! I always thought it looked like more of a helmet, but a hat, yeah … okay, this conversation is officially weird."

They were both silent for a while. Harry was berating himself for babbling so stupidly, and Malfoy … well, who knew what Malfoy was thinking? He had an odd look on his face; it could almost be described as predatory. Perhaps he was plotting some way to embarrass Harry further.

"Well," Malfoy finally said, "at least you know four of them. That's a start."

"I suppose. I don't really understand the neck one though." _What am I saying? Shut up!_, he thought, but his mouth seemed to be ignoring his brain. "I mean, this doesn't really feel like anything special," he said, rubbing the side of his neck with his hand.

"It's like tickling," replied Malfoy. "Someone else has to do it for you to really feel it." He raised his arm and slowly slid his hand from Harry's throat to the side of his neck. His touch was cool and gentle but left a trail of fire behind. Harry lost track of the rest of his body, he was so focused on the feel of Malfoy's fingers against his skin. He held his breath, or maybe he had forgotten how to breathe. He wasn't sure which it was.

He realized that he had closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Malfoy's hand was gone. "That … that is a bit different," he said hoarsely.

Malfoy nodded. Harry opened the door and followed him into the corridor.

"Are your quarters this way?"

"Oh, um. Yeah. This way."

They walked down two flights of stairs together, neither saying a word. Harry could feel the heat between them, even though they were several feet apart. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them; his body craved contact.

In the entrance hall, Malfoy paused at the top of the stairs that led down into the dungeons. "I know your quarters aren't in the dungeons."

"Um, no. They're that way," Harry said, waving his hand vaguely toward the other side of the hall. He couldn't leave yet. He needed … something. Contact. Skin on skin. "Good luck tomorrow." He extended his hand. Malfoy took it, and they stood there with hands clasped, not shaking them, not moving. It wasn't enough. Harry dropped his hand.

With a whimper, he lurched forward and kissed Malfoy, who responded instantly, as if he had been expecting it. It wasn't a chaste closed-mouth kiss, but a desperate fusion of lips and tongues. Malfoy wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him closer.

They broke the kiss to take a breath. "We shouldn't be doing this," said Malfoy, pressing his forehead against Harry's.

Harry grinned. He felt reckless, invincible. "Probably not," he said, and then kissed Malfoy again, slower this time, and deeper. His whole body was shaking as the pent-up desire poured out of him. A thousand hours of wanting and needing were suddenly fulfilled; it was bliss. He felt a hand on the front of his robes, undoing some of the buttons, sneaking down under the waistband of his trousers. The hand wrapped itself around his cock. Harry moaned against Malfoy's lips. Malfoy's hand moved slowly, caressing, stroking--

Were those footsteps?

Harry pulled his face away and stilled, trying to listen for the faint sound. Malfoy bit the side of his neck and continued the smooth movement of his hand. Harry stifled a moan.

"Wait, stop … I think I hear footsteps," he whispered.

"It's one in the morning, the entire castle is asleep," murmured Malfoy. He didn't stop.

"No, I heard something. It … it might be a student." Harry desperately wanted to keep doing what they were doing; he also didn't want to be seen.

Malfoy sighed, pulled his hand out of Harry's trousers and stepped away. "Fine. Good night, Potter."

"Wait! No, I didn't mean … We could go to my room." Harry couldn't believe he had just said that. But he didn't want it to end yet. Just a little more, perhaps, and it would be enough.

"We could," said Malfoy, smiling slightly. "Is it actually nearby?"

Harry laughed. "No, it's on the sixth floor."

\---

The walk up to his quarters had never seemed so long. Of course, stopping at every landing and in a number of conveniently located alcoves along the way hadn't helped shorten the distance. Harry was sure that if the statue of Frederick the Freckled on the fifth floor had suddenly come to life, it would have been aghast at their wanton display.

By the time they arrived at the door to his room, he had never been so turned on in his entire life. Granted, he didn't have much to compare it to, but this was beyond anything he'd thought was possible. Every nerve ending in his body was singing in harmony, his very being a conduit for some kind of super-powered lust. From the sounds Malfoy was making, Harry guessed that he was feeling the same way.

They stumbled onto his bed, pulling off their clothes; fabric ripped and buttons flew, but it didn't matter -- there was always _Reparo_. Harry had no idea what was going to happen now. He had spent hours fantasizing about what he would do to Malfoy, but it had been in fuzzy generalities. Now here they were, naked and tangled together, and the feel of Malfoy's lean, angular body was nothing like it had been in his head.

Malfoy slid down and sucked Harry's cock into his mouth.

Harry decided that reality was much, much better than dreams.

\---

 

There was a hint of the coming sunrise in the sky. Harry lay in his bed, listening to the absolute silence that was unique to the hour before dawn. Malfoy rolled over; by the sound of his breathing, Harry guessed he was still asleep.

Malfoy. Harry didn't quite know what to make of what had happened a few hours earlier. It had been what he had most wanted, but now he was just empty -- so empty he almost felt sick. There was a hollow void inside of him; something was supposed to be there, but he didn't know what. The void seemed new but also very familiar, as if it had always been there, only hidden.

A lone bird began to sing outside his window. The early risers of Hogwarts would be up soon.

"Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy," Harry said, his voice getting louder with each repetition of the word. "Draco!"

Malfoy opened his eyes and sat up. He looked disoriented. "What?"

"It's almost morning. You should probably go."

"Fuck. Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah. I don't mind, it's just … it's probably best that you're not seen leaving my room in the morning."

"For once, Potter, you and I are in perfect agreement. That would be disastrous. Fuck, I can't believe I fell asleep."

Malfoy dressed quickly. Harry watched him pull on the clothing that they had both torn off, then leave without a word.

\---

By the time the second task began that afternoon, a wall of dark clouds had rolled in, casting the grounds in shadow. Just as the Hogwarts champion had solved her second obstacle, a freezing rain had begun to trickle down from the sky. The few students who were in attendance sat huddled together in the stands; many had already retreated back to the warmth of the castle.

Harry sat in the first row of the stands, his thick woollen cloak and Warming Charm protecting him from feeling the effects of the weather. This task was not terribly dangerous, especially towards the end. This was a good thing; he was rather distracted by memories of last night and so was not paying much attention to what was going on. He had managed to get a few hours of sleep after Malfoy had left, and had woken up in an unusually cheerful mood. Apparently sex made one happy. Or maybe it was just sex with Malfoy, since he hadn't felt this way after any of his other encounters. There hadn't been many: the woman from the Ministry who'd interviewed him after the war, that Divination professor who'd left Hogwarts after only one week, and a bloke who'd crawled under a table and sucked him off one night at the Hog's Head. And there was Ginny, but Harry didn't think about her. He couldn't.

"I'd ask what you're smiling about, but I'm sure I already know." Malfoy sat down next to him, his breath puffing in front of him like smoke.

Harry felt a jolt of pleasure run through him. It was different from how he used to feel when he looked at Malfoy -- it was stronger, more real. Now, he knew what Malfoy looked like under his clothes, what he tasted like, what he sounded like when he came.

The woman seated a few feet away looked over at them.

"Of course," said Harry with a grin. "It's a beautiful day. Why wouldn't I be smiling?"

"I was referring to the exceptional performance that your Fiona is giving. If I didn't know better, I'd think she knew something that the other two didn't."

He studied Malfoy's face. Did he really think that was why Harry was smiling?

Fiona, the Hogwarts champion, had been quite surprised earlier in the week when Harry had pulled her aside and told her about the second task. He hadn't told her much -- just the basic description that Malfoy had decoded -- but it had been more than she had expected. After she was chosen by the Goblet, Harry had explained that his involvement in the administration of the tournament meant he would have to limit his contact with her to class time. She had seemed indifferent and said she was sure she could manage without him.

"She _is_ very resourceful," said Harry.

"Of course she is; she's a Slytherin."

\---

As the small crowd walked back to the castle, Harry felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned and saw Nika, her dark hair peeking out from under a fur hat. "Professor Malfoy is looking for you," she said, then jogged ahead to catch up with a group of students. She had come in a close second in the task, scoring just two points fewer than Fiona. Madame Roux had been furious.

Harry stopped and turned in a circle. Malfoy was usually so easy to spot in a crowd, but he was still searching when Malfoy walked up to him.

"Oh, I forgot; you're wearing a hat," said Harry. "No wonder I couldn't find you."

"What are you--? Never mind. Look, I wanted to talk to you."

"I know, Nika told me."

"She-- yes, of course she did," said Malfoy. By now all but a few stragglers had made it indoors, and even they were out of earshot. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for bolting like that this morning. It wasn't anything personal. I-- why are you smiling like that?"

"I can't believe you just apologized."

"Well, don't worry, I didn't mean it. It was purely strategic. There's a better chance of last night happening again if you aren't annoyed with me."

"But … why would I be annoyed? I asked you to leave. I would be annoyed if you hadn't left."

Malfoy paused, flushing slightly. "Right. I suppose you're not a woman, are you?" He looked embarrassed.

"No, I'm definitely not," Harry said. He wasn't sure what Malfoy meant by that. "So, you want it to happen again?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

"Tonight?"

"Are you offering?" asked Malfoy with a sly smile. He licked his lips.

Harry shivered. "Yes."

\---

After the third night, they had settled into a routine. Draco would come to Harry's room just after midnight, and leave just before four. They hadn't discussed it or planned it, it had just happened. Harry grew so accustomed to the schedule that after a few weeks he didn't even wake up when Draco left.

They took care to avoid each other during the day. Or perhaps it was just that they no longer sought each other out at meals or in the corridors; they didn't need to.

It was one night in early March when Harry realized that things had changed between them. They were lying side by side in bed, discussing the differences between Hogwarts and Durmstrang. It was a frequent topic with them; teaching was one of the few things they had in common, other than their past, which they didn't talk about.

"You keep saying that Durmstrang students get a more thorough education," said Harry, "but you haven't explained what you mean."

"Mmm. There's a reason for that. You won't like it. You'd stop speaking to me, I'd lose my fuck buddy, and then what would I do? The sexual frustration alone would kill me."

Harry snorted. "I'm sure you'd survive," he said. "Besides, technically, I don't think that fuck buddies need to be on speaking terms with one another." He grinned, but part of him wanted to grab Draco and tell him that there was more to this thing between them than sex. It wasn't that he thought they were in some sort of committed relationship, but pretending that nothing had changed since their first night together was ludicrous. Wasn't there some state in between the two extremes? There had to be.

"Hmm. I see your point," said Draco. "We could have angry, hate-filled sex and never say a word."

Harry waited. "Draco," he said finally, "you were saying?"

"Sorry, I was … never mind. Saying about what?"

"Durmstrang education … something that would make me angry," said Harry.

"We teach the Dark Arts to our students."

"Is that all? I've known that for ages."

"… I teach the Dark Arts to my students."

Harry sat up, the blanket falling off of him and exposing his bare torso to the night air. "What? How … how can you--? You saw what it did here, even-- God, I suppose you have some rationalization for it, but--"

"Look, Potter, the Dark Arts have a long tradition in-- in the country where Durmstrang is located. Most of these children grew up learning spells that would make your hair stand on end. More than it already does, I mean. I teach them responsible uses of Dark Magic, so that--"

"There's no such thing! Dark spells are Dark precisely because their very nature violates basic human rights. Their sole purpose is for evil."

"You don't need to know Dark Magic to do evil," said Draco. "You don't have to do evil just because you know Dark Magic."

"Oh, so what? It's not as if you can do good with a Dark curse either."

"On the first day of class, I present the following scenario to my first-years: one wizard casts the Imperius Curse on a man who is about to murder someone and commands him to stop, saving the other man's life. Another wizard casts a Full Body Bind on a man as he is walking down the stairs, causing him to fall and break his neck. Only one of those spells is considered Dark Magic. Only one of those spells is cast with the intent to harm. Note that they are not the same spell."

"That's a special case," said Harry. "Just because you can find a positive use for one Dark spell …"

"It's not just one, I could do that with any of them."

Harry lay back down and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Draco. "The Killing Curse," he said. "You can't do it with that one."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "You didn't have evil intent when you used it."

"Yes I did," Harry whispered.

He should have been surprised when Draco curled up behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest; but he wasn't.

\---

After that night, their relationship changed. Harry could feel it. Some barrier had been broken between them, and now when they touched, when they kissed, when they fucked, the pleasure went deep into him; it surrounded and filled him. Slowly, hesitantly, they began to connect more deeply in conversation as well. They began to share their pasts.

At first Draco talked while Harry listened, feeling and remembering things that he couldn't possibly express. Draco had asked him questions about his own life, but Harry had been evasive, and eventually Draco had stopped asking.

They continued to spend each night together. During the day, especially at meals, it got harder and harder for them to pretend that they still held each other in the same disdain they once had. Whenever he forgot himself and smiled at Draco in public, Draco sneered and looked away. Even though Harry knew it was an act, it felt like a punch in the stomach. He had noticed McGonagall studying Draco after one such non-verbal exchange. She'd looked over at Harry with concern in her eyes. Thankfully she hadn't asked him about it; he didn't think he was up to that conversation just yet. He didn't want to lie to her, but he also didn't want to tell her the truth.

The days passed, and Harry realized that Draco's story was the same as his, even though in nearly every way that could be named, they were opposites. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Muggle-raised versus pure-blood, dark-haired versus blond, Chosen One versus Death Eater. Even their jobs where opposites: Harry taught to defend against the magic that Draco taught.

Yet they'd both lost the things that mattered most to them. Voldemort had taken their families, their friends, the lives they should have had. They both had been forced to do things that no one should ever have to do. They both had scars that no one else could see.

Harry began to find the words that he needed to tell his story. Slowly, he began to talk while Draco listened.

\---

Harry walked toward the lake. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, but he couldn't enjoy it because of the note he held clutched in his hand.

"Meet me by the lake this afternoon. I want to talk to you about something," it said. Harry couldn't think of what Draco would need to talk to him about here and now as opposed to tonight in his room -- nothing good, anyway.

Draco was sitting under a tree, throwing small rocks into the water. The ripples spread along the surface, warping the reflection of the castle and the sky. One rock landed next to a duck. It flew away, quacking angrily. Harry considered that the duck might actually be afraid, not angry; sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

As he approached, Harry felt his stomach drop; Draco looked nervous.

Harry sat down under the tree, a few feet from Draco. He remembered spending time here as a student, with Ron and Hermione, and later with Ginny. Oddly, that thought comforted him. He pulled up a handful of grass and sprinkled it onto the ground. He would wait for Draco to talk.

"I'm going to be gone this weekend."

"Oh. That's too bad," said Harry cautiously.

"But think of all the extra hours you'll have to sleep."

"I suppose. I'd rather have you. Preferably on your stomach and naked."

Draco smiled and looked at the ground. Then he cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to see Pansy; she'll be home for Easter."

Pansy. Hearing Draco say her name came as a shock. He hadn't mentioned her once since they'd started … whatever it was that they'd started. Before, when he'd been pining after Draco from afar, Harry had thought of Pansy often, with bitter jealousy. Now he never thought of her. In fact, he had almost forgotten that she existed. He knew he should feel bad about what he was doing with her boyfriend, but the truth was that he didn't.

Harry preferred to think that, at night in his room, they were in their own universe, where only they existed, and they made up the rules for what was right and what was wrong. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Draco was his.

_No, he isn't_.

"I'm going to tell her it's over between us," said Draco.

For a second, Harry wasn't sure which "us" Draco meant. He opened his eyes. "You're breaking up with Pansy?"

"I am. I just wanted you to know." Draco threw a pebble at him. "You look happy."

"Do I?" said Harry, grinning broadly. "I'm not. Poor Pansy."

"That would be much more believable if you didn't look like you were about to get up and dance a jig."

"A _jig_? Who does that? Is that what you pure-bloods do for fun?"

"Yes," said Draco, throwing another much larger rock at him, "we dance the jig and then when we're tired, we sit around planning new and inventive ways to torture Muggles."

"Ow, that one hurt," said Harry, rubbing his arm.

"So once we … once I am a free man, I … I'm not quite sure how it will work, but we could try being more … public. I suppose. Maybe not yet, but … eventually."

Harry had never heard Draco sound so hesitant. He was generally so confident, even when he was completely wrong.

"Um. Yeah, all right. Eventually," said Harry. The thought of what Draco was suggesting was both terrifying and exciting. But mostly terrifying.

"Try to contain your excitement, Harry."

"Sorry. I am excited, but … it is a little frightening. I'm not worried about the students or other teachers, but … word will get out. I've kind of gotten used to being out of the public eye."

"I'm not saying we should take out a full page advertisement in the _Prophet_. We just wouldn't have to hide anymore."

"I know how these things work," said Harry. "If we stop hiding our relationship, we might as well have taken out that advert."

"You're overestimating the level of interest the wizarding world has in your private life. Fame doesn't last forever."

Harry shrugged. He knew Draco was wrong, but it really wasn't worth arguing about. He'd just have to see for himself.

\---

Draco left on Friday morning. By Sunday morning, Harry was enthusiastically looking forward to his return. He'd just needed a bit of time to adjust to the idea; he was no longer afraid of what this change might bring. He'd handled worse before, hadn't he?

Harry woke up early and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He had almost expected Draco to be back earlier, since he couldn't imagine that staying at the Parkinson's house after he had dumped their daughter would be very pleasant. Although, he and Pansy had known each other a long time; maybe they were planning on staying friends, and they had spent yesterday talking and sorting things out.

He was halfway through his bowl of cornflakes when an owl swooped overhead, dropping a letter that narrowly missed falling into his tea. Harry frowned when he saw the handwriting on the front. He opened it quickly, before he could think about it.

_Harry --_

I can't do this. Pansy's father is very influential; I may have a chance to reclaim the Malfoy estate some day.

I have to think of my future. You can't expect me to do otherwise. I'm sorry.

Draco

Harry crumpled up the letter in his fist. He stood and walked quickly out of the hall, leaving his cornflakes to turn to mush in the bowl.

\---

It was a good thing that Harry had months of practice avoiding Malfoy, because if he had seen him in the days following the letter, he might have killed him. He had been furious. Malfoy was going to end it just like that, because Pansy's father had connections? What kind of calculating, cold-hearted--

Oh, right.

It made perfect sense. That was how Malfoy was, and always had been. Harry had been stupid to think otherwise -- stupid to believe Malfoy had been serious about making their relationship real. Why had he even wanted that anyway? Malfoy was a bastard. It never would have worked. He had done him a favour, really, by ending it.

He should have told Harry in person, though. Coward.

By the next week, Harry was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but better. His students had stopped walking on eggshells around him, and he no longer had the urge to punch the wall every time he thought of Malfoy. Now, when he thought of Malfoy, he just felt empty. He wondered where all of those emotions had gone; it seemed as though they had drained right out of him.

He had just finished locking up his office late one night, and when he turned around, Malfoy was standing there, leaning against the opposite wall.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk."

"Talk? About what? We've got nothing to talk about." Harry walked towards the staircase. Malfoy followed him.

"Yes, we have. You've been avoiding me. Why are you upset? You didn't even seem that enthusiastic about the idea in the first place."

"I'm not upset. You said you couldn't do this, and having thought about it, I agree. Neither can I. I'm not avoiding you, you simply no longer have relevance to my life."

"Oh!" Malfoy laughed and stood in front of Harry with one hand on each banister, blocking the way up the stairs. "You thought-- no wonder you were angry. I didn't mean I couldn't do _this_. I meant I couldn't end things with Pansy."

"What the fuck is the difference?"

"We were carrying on perfectly well before when I was with Pansy, I see no reason why that should change," Malfoy said, leaning towards Harry.

Harry knew that look, knew what Malfoy wanted. He put his hands out to push him away. But the moment he made contact with Malfoy's chest, something broke inside of him. Instead of pushing, he grabbed handfuls of Malfoy's shirt and pulled him forward.

"You have two seconds to get out of my way, and thirty seconds after that to get naked and in my bed," he growled. "Otherwise, I'm never touching you again." He pushed roughly at Malfoy, who stumbled backwards onto the stairs, then turned and scrambled up them. He disappeared from sight, but Harry could hear the quick pace of his steps continuing towards the sixth floor.

"I had no idea he was so obedient," said Harry.

\---

As they lay in bed afterwards, panting and trembling, Malfoy said, "You were right."

"About what?" For a moment, Harry hoped that Malfoy was about to change his mind -- about Pansy, about everything. The emotions that he'd thought were gone came flowing back into his body. They'd only been hiding.

"Fuck buddies don't need to be on speaking terms with one another. That was mind-blowing."

"Get out," said Harry. He rolled over and closed his eyes. After he heard the outer door to his quarters shut, he slid out of bed and went to stand by the window. He looked out at the stars, feeling tears slide silently down his cheeks.

\---

Malfoy started coming to his door almost every night after that. Most times, Harry refused to let him in, but sometimes desire made him weak. He didn't understand why he couldn't say no. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't weakness -- Malfoy was the one who came begging; Harry had all the power. But it didn't feel that way -- he felt like he was slowly losing control over himself.

One afternoon in the corridors, Harry passed by Malfoy as he was talking with a seventh-year Slytherin boy.

"Hello, Justin. Hello, Malfoy," Harry said, forcing a polite smile onto his face.

That night, when Harry opened his door to tell Malfoy to go away, Malfoy pushed through and came striding into the room.

"Fuck you, Potter. You pretend to be fine with our arrangement, but the moment you see me with Justin, you bloody _smile_ at me like a simpering fool. I suppose your plan is to have Pansy find out about us? And then once she's left me, we can fly off into the sunset together? Is that what you think will happen? Because I promise you, if she finds out about this, it is over between us."

"What the hell are you talking about? What does Justin have to do with Pansy? I didn't smile like a simpering fool. I only smiled because you were with one of my students, and I thought that glaring at you might have looked odd. Believe me, I'd rather have glared."

"What does Justin have to do with-- you mean you don't know? He's her fucking cousin. Why do you think I never spend the entire night here? I'm living in the Slytherin guest quarters. If I'm not there in the morning, he'll tell her. She's not terribly clever, but she'll realize that I'm up to something."

Harry was speechless. All this time, he had thought that Malfoy was being careful out of consideration for Harry's position at Hogwarts, and perhaps also for his own reputation. But he'd been protecting Pansy from learning the truth. Protecting Pansy from getting hurt, in his own twisted way. Harry stared at Malfoy. He really did care for her. He might even love her. _Oh my God_, Harry thought, _what am I doing?_

"We're through. I mean it this time," Harry said. He opened the door, and Malfoy walked back out.

"Fine," said Malfoy as he left. "What do I care? It's just sex."

\---

Harry lay in bed for hours, but sleep wouldn't come. When he heard the birds start to sing outside his window, he sat up, sighing in frustration. "Fuck it," he said, and went to take a shower.

Half an hour later, he was sitting in his office, reviewing the plan for the third and final task. He'd barely given it any thought since last summer, but he still had a month, and it wasn't one that required a lot of preparation. He began to write out a list of things he'd need, people he'd have to contact, items he'd have to procure. Halfway through the line "order 3 doz Cornish Pixies," he put down his quill, faced with an inescapable conclusion.

"Fuck. This is boring!" he said. "The committee was right. Why don't I have them solve a crossword puzzle instead? That would be more challenging than this. Ooh, maybe I can make them work it using ink instead of a pencil. That would make it even more dangerous!"

His clock yawned. "If you must be sarcastic this early in the morning, can you please be quietly sarcastic?"

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, and got out a fresh piece of parchment.

A few minutes later, he was on his way to the Owlery.

\---

He'd gotten an answering owl later that afternoon. The following day, he skipped lunch in the Great Hall, heading instead into Hogsmeade. As he made his way towards the village, he thought of how excited he'd been on his first trip there. Back then, going to Hogsmeade had seemed so monumental. Leaving the castle, getting out on his own. He stopped just past the gates, looking between the castle and the village. The distance between had seemed so much greater back then.

He settled into a booth in the back of the Three Broomsticks. Ten minutes later, Charlie Weasley walked in.

It took Harry a moment to remember how to breathe normally. Charlie looked very different than Ron had, but there was enough family resemblance to give Harry a lump in his throat. As Charlie walked towards him, he could almost hear Ron's laugh somewhere else in the pub.

"Harry, it's great to see you," said Charlie, clapping him on the back before sliding into the booth across from him. "It's been years. Too many. It feels like a lifetime."

"I know," said Harry. "I'm sorry. I don't really know how to explain it. I just-- I couldn't …"

"I know. None of us could."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"How's your mother?" asked Harry.

"Better," said Charlie brightly. "They say she might even be released soon. Maybe in a few years. She's almost herself again." He shook his head. "Not that she'll ever be completely the same. She asked about you, last time I visited. She always does. She'll be so pleased when I tell her that I've seen you. You know, next time you're in London, you should visit her. She'd really like that."

Harry nodded tightly. He couldn't imagine why Mrs Weasley would want to see him. It was his fault that she was in St Mungo's, with no family left apart from Charlie and Simone.

"How's Simone?" asked Harry. Simone was Bill's daughter. Bill had died before she was born. Fleur had disappeared one day when the baby was only two weeks old. Charlie had raised her ever since.

"She's great. She's got such a wicked sense of humour." Charlie laughed. "Some of the pranks she plays … if I didn't know better I'd swear she was somehow Fred or George's. But you'll see soon enough. If all goes well, she'll be here at Hogwarts next year."

That didn't seem possible. Last time Harry had seen her, she hadn't even been walking yet. He had missed so much. "Wow," he said quietly. "Time flies."

"It does. Speaking of flying … your request is interesting."

Harry had almost forgotten why he'd owled Charlie in the first place. "Yeah. I know it's last minute, but … I could really use your help," he said. "Can you do it?"

"With less than a month until the task? It'll be tough. These things take time, and I've been out of the field for years now. But I think I can pull it off. I still have my connections."

They spent the next hour working out the details. As he walked back to the castle, Harry realized he hadn't thought about Malfoy once since the previous day. There was a whole world outside of Malfoy, outside of Hogwarts, even. Seeing Charlie had reminded him of that. He looked up at the sky and breathed in deeply. There was a hint of summer in the air.

\---

Harry watched his third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs file out of the room. The year was nearly over -- there was only one week left until exams started, and ten days until the third task. For the first time since he'd started teaching, he wasn't sure he'd made a difference in his students' lives. He'd been so distracted this year, by the tournament and by Malfoy. It was only in the last month that he'd actually learned the names of all of the first-years.

Fiona, the Hogwarts champion, knocked on the open door.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Harry looked at her. He could make a difference in her life at least. "The third task is dragons."

"Wicked," she said. "What kind?"

\---

The third task had gone brilliantly well. Sebastien had almost been killed by the Norwegian Ridgeback, and Nika's wand had been burnt to a crisp -- although she had gotten by her Common Welsh Green all the same. By the time Fiona got past the Peruvian Vipertooth, the crowd was on its feet, cheering wildly. Once the Mediwizards in attendance had seen to her burns, she turned and waved at the crowd, beaming.

The head of Magical Games and Sports came up to Harry and clapped him on the back. "Bloody good show," he said. "Well done."

"Thank you very much," said Harry, but the man had already walked away. In the distance, Harry saw that Charlie and Malfoy were still deep in conversation. They'd been talking since the task began.

It was driving Harry crazy. What were they talking about? They didn't even know one another. Harry wanted to go thank Charlie for all of his help, but he couldn't -- not while that bastard was standing right next to him. Harry hadn't seen Malfoy at all in a week. It was as though he had disappeared entirely from the castle. It had been nice. Couldn't he go away for a little while longer? Harry watched him talk. Actually, he seemed to be mostly listening while Charlie talked. That was odd. Harry scrutinized Malfoy's face, trying to decipher his expression.

The Durmstrang students yelled in triumph. Harry looked over at the judges' station and saw that Nika had won the task; that meant she had won the tournament as well. Malfoy looked over at the judges, and then at Harry. He said something to Charlie and then began to walk towards Harry.

Harry steeled himself for the confrontation, feeling his pulse begin to pound. Malfoy was focused on him in a way that was disconcerting. Why did he look … concerned? Harry glanced at Charlie, who waved at him. Oh no, he hadn't.

"Congratulations, Malfoy," called Harry once he was within earshot, hoping Malfoy wouldn't need to come any closer.

"It wasn't my doing," Malfoy said, stopping next to Harry. "You should congratulate Nika."

"I will." Harry didn't look at Malfoy, didn't say anything else.

Malfoy walked away.

\---

Harry stood in the courtyard outside the castle. He watched the second hand on his watch sweep through its arc. It was five minutes past midnight. Two more minutes to go.

The moon was full overhead, and the balmy June air rustled the leaves in the trees. But all Harry could hear were screams, and all he could see was blood. He hadn't been able to save them. He hadn't been able to warn them.

One minute to go. An owl hooted softly in the distance, but Harry didn't hear it.

The second hand ticked towards twelve, and Harry held his breath. At seven minutes past midnight, he exhaled, and there was silence in his head. Ten years exactly. Ten years and he was here, and they weren't. Ten years.

"It wasn't your fault."

Harry turned and saw Malfoy standing several yards away. He said nothing in response. Malfoy came closer.

"It wasn't your fault," he said again.

"You don't know what happened," said Harry, his voice barely audible. "You don't know what I did. I was trying to protect them, but instead …"

"I know."

"Charlie told you." It wasn't a question.

Malfoy didn't answer. He took Harry by the arm and led him back inside, all the way up to the sixth floor, all the way to his room. Harry got into bed and pulled the blanket up over his head. When he lowered it a few minutes later, Malfoy was gone.

\---

The crowd outside of Hogwarts was large and bustling. Everyone was leaving, and their trunks were stacked haphazardly on the ground and in the courtyard. The people from Beauxbatons had just left, and the Durmstrang group was saying their good-byes. Nika was hugging Fiona tightly; they were both crying.

Harry stood off to one side, apart from the students and faculty members. When Malfoy walked up to him, Harry offered his hand and didn't know what to think when Malfoy took it and wouldn't let go.

"I went to see Pansy last week."

That was unexpected. "Oh. How is she?"

"I told her it was over. She wanted to kill me."

"I know the feeling." Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to this news. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you, you idiot."

"So? What does that even mean? You wanted me before, too. And then you didn't. I'm supposed to believe you this time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Come and visit me this summer and I'll try to explain. You'll enjoy yourself. I have a cottage in the mountains. And goats."

Harry found himself smiling. "You have goats?"

"Will you come?"

"I'll think about it," said Harry. Malfoy let go of his hand and walked away. Harry looked down and saw a small piece of paper.

_Please_ was all it said, plus an address.

Travelling -- that was an idea. There was so much he hadn't seen. So much he had missed. But he still had time.

_I'll just pretend to be thinking about it,_ thought Harry. _In a few days, I'll owl him and say yes._

\---

That night, Harry walked around the empty castle, remembering his friends, remembering their lives and their deaths. He toured through every corridor of every floor, noting everything that was the same and everything that had changed in the reconstruction. The castle had adapted, in a way, healing over the damage that had been done to it, emerging as something new and different. Something stronger, perhaps.

In the morning, he handed in his resignation letter to McGonagall. She didn't seem surprised.

"You will always be welcome back here, Harry. Any time."

"Thank you," he said. "I do want to come back eventually. I just need to … you know …"

"Get out and enjoy the sunshine?"

Harry smiled. "Yes. Exactly."


End file.
